


Different Kinds of Pain

by Quefish



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Confusion, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Gen, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, Mentioned Armageddon, Not Canon Compliant, Scene: The Bookshop Fire (Good Omens), canon adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:07:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23306539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quefish/pseuds/Quefish
Summary: What would have happened if Aziraphale hadn't been discorporated, instead going looking for Crowley as Crowley came looking for him?No deaths, only the belief there were deaths.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 135





	Different Kinds of Pain

Aziraphale backed away from Shadwell who was shouting nonsense and pointing a finger at him. As he shouted in reply, he knocked a candle over and the divine portal shut down. The angel took the opportunity in Shadwell’s distraction to run past him out of the bookshop; he had to get to Crowley. 

Shadwell didn’t notice the angel run past him, he only noted that the man in front of him had disappeared along with the light that had been rather blinding behind him. He gaped at his finger, the drawing on the floor and candles. He looked around, realizing he was alone and backed away, turned to the door and ran out. 

As the door shut, the candle that had been knocked over rolled to a stack of old music books, setting them alight. As dry as the old texts were in the bookshop, the fire took barely moments before it was strong and visible from the street.

Aziraphale had no idea what was happening behind him, he was making his way as quickly as possible to Mayfair. He had to get to Crowley; he had to tell him what he knew. And that he had been wrong.

~~~~~

Crowley had cackled as he turned on his ancient answering machine and heard Hastur get trapped. He carefully leapt over the Ligur puddle left in the doorway and took the stairs to the street. The Bentley was already running when he slid behind the wheel and he sped towards the bookshop. He tried calling Aziraphale back, with no success. He became more tense as the seconds ticked by. It wasn’t a long drive, but it was longer than he liked, all things considered.

~~~~~

Had it only been this morning when he had jogged unhappily next to Gabriel? Aziraphale was sure his form and speed would have given Gabriel pause right now, in disbelief. His corporation’s lungs were burning, and his thighs were aching. He spared a thought that if he’d had more time, he’d have found a cab. He could see Crowley’s flat peeking over neighboring buildings and pushed himself just a bit harder.

~~~~~

Crowley pulled up to the bookshop, a two story inferno with fire brigade already in attendance. He snapped at the fireman questioning him and went inside, outwardly annoyed, inwardly panicking. He yelled, searching for Aziraphale. His thoughts a jumble. 

_Where the heaven is he, fire, why fire, he can’t control fire, this fire isn’t his, he’d never ... demons. Demons use fire … Who the fuck was here?! My best friend, he’s gone, they took him, they killed him_

He was knocked to the ground by a powerful jet of water, the last of his thoughts on a loop as he screamed for Aziraphale, infuriated at whoever had done this, heart breaking for what he would do, now that he was alone. He wanted Aziraphale back, he wanted revenge over whoever had done this … he wanted a drink. He grabbed a book off the floor, lightly smoldering. A souvenir, something to always have of Aziraphale’s, to hold and protect since he couldn’t protect the angel himself.

~~~~~

Aziraphale ran up the stairs, feeling an odd yet familiar tingle the closer he got to Crowley’s flat. It felt like … He opened the door to Crowley’s floor as he came to a realization. He was feeling Grace, Holiness … and Crowley’s door was open. The angel slowly made his way to the door, dreading every step. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale stepped through the front door, thinking that Crowley wasn’t the type to just forget to close his door. His home was his sanctuary. 

Aziraphale crept in the foyer, his mind replaying a memory, just a snapshot. Of two sets of hands, trading ownership of a tartan thermos. He froze, finally recognizing what he was truly feeling. It wasn’t just Grace and Holiness. It was _his_ Grace and Holiness. He forced himself to continue, saw light coming from large windows as he found himself in Crowley’s office. 

Staring at the ground at a puddle that was his Holy Water. There were some melted black clothing scraps in the puddle. 

Aziraphale dropped to his knees, unable to stand, his face blank. He felt himself shutting down, his thoughts bleak, hopeless.

_This was mine, I did this. I killed him. I could have said no, did say no, should have been strong enough for both of us to say no. I was weak, giving in, thinking I was saving him, helping him, protecting him. My Water, mine. My fault. I lost him, my best friend … he’s gone._

The angel couldn’t scream, couldn’t rage, there was no one he could blame other than himself. He could only crumble next to a puddle in tears, begging it for forgiveness.

~~~~~

The demon drunkenly blathered at a pub of people, none were listening. He flung the book around as he talked and papers fell out of it. He picked them up, recognizing the angel’s writing and began reading it. His clever and brilliant angel had figured it out. He sobered and headed back to Tadfield. 

Hastur appeared and Crowley simmered in rage. Hastur couldn’t have done it, he had been trapped in a machine. Did he know who had … too late. Crowley discorporated him in the Hellfire of the M25, and couldn’t really find it within himself to feel bad about it at all. 

As Crowley got closer, he could feel the anger, the power emanating from the small town, and hoped that whatever was happening was for the best. While he didn’t care much about saving his own skin anymore, Aziraphale had loved this planet, and he would protect it, help it survive as best as he could. 

As suddenly as the power hit a crescendo, it disappeared. Crowley got out of the car and double checked that he, and everything around him, still existed. There hadn’t been a war that he could tell, which meant that whoever the AntiChrist was, had been one smart kid and found a way to go against his origin. 

The demon heaved a sigh of relief before wondering what to do with his newfound life, especially without his companion. He decided to find the best liquor he could and start drinking again. With that, Crowley climbed back into the Bentley and headed back to London. 

~~~~~

Aziraphale hadn’t moved, still staring at the puddle. He’d felt a massive flux of power hours before, and for the first moment in his existence, had truly wished for Armageddon, for a war. If only to have this misery end. The power had dissipated, and he was left bereft again, with no relief. He had no conscious thought of time passing. As he sat, he heard slow, dragging footsteps coming down the hall and felt the tang of demonic presence, but couldn’t bring himself to care. He hoped whoever was coming would at least end him quickly, and wouldn’t make him leave the puddle. 

Aziraphale didn’t blink as the steps came closer, beginning to breathe deeply, calming, preparing. 

“Oh my G-” He heard the whisper. There was a heavy crash of glass as a package hit the ground but Aziraphale refused to look up, only gently nodding his acceptance of whatever was about to happen. He felt the air displace as whoever it was leapt behind him and put their hands on his biceps and started to drag him backwards away from the Holy Water, whispering his name. The angel came to life, screeching as he was pulled away and turning to attack whoever dared to do so, who dared to know his name.

Aziraphale stopped, frozen as he saw the shock of flame hair first and he fell back as he was abruptly let go, the offender dodging his attack. He felt sure this was a punishment, a trick, and he began sobbing, again begging forgiveness, accepting his fate. 

Crowley was agog. His angel was alive, and he had no idea how. He dropped to the floor, on his knees, reaching out to him. He flung his glasses across the room, his eyes losing control of the sclera, crying alongside Aziraphale.

“Aziraphale, please, it’s me. You’re alive … I thought you were gone. In the fire, the bookshop.” He finally started hearing the words coming from the angel’s mouth.

“I’m so sorry, this was my fault, you’re gone and … I must be hallucinating, or I was destroyed so quickly I don’t recall, is this my own hell? Seeing you alive? When you can’t be? My own hell where you taunt me?” Aziraphale broke down covering his face. “What was I to do without you?! What am I to do? I can’t … Oh, my dear … Crowley, I’m not strong enough for this ... Knowing I killed you … that I denied you and you left me … “

The demon started putting together what happened, where he found Aziraphale, and the obvious conclusion. He grabbed him again, this time the angel was dead weight, limp, the fight gone out of him in his grief. 

“Angel, no, that’s not me. I promised you, it wasn’t for me, I meant it. Not me, Angel, please listen.” He cradled Aziraphale in his lap, holding him tightly, pressing his head to his chest. “Not me, only defending myself, it was never for me. I’d never leave you. Tell me off every day, I’d still be here.”

Aziraphale listened to Crowley, his hand gripping his jacket, his sobs slowing. “Crowley … ?” He looked up into Crowley’s eyes, praying this was real. “Please, it is you? Crowley, please … I can’t bear it.”

“Real, still here, shocked that _you’re_ still here, and grateful, I owe Her one I think … I didn’t know what I was going to do without you.” He grunted softly as Aziraphale threw his arms around him, squeezing him tightly. “Angel, a bit strong, I’m thrilled too, but I can’t breathe.”

Aziraphale hiccuped a sobbing laugh. “You don’t need to, and I’m not sure I can let go.”

“Fair point. Don’t. Don’t let go.”

They moved from the floor to the sofa but refused to let go, both too grateful to have the other back, and too frightened it would be lost if they did.

**Author's Note:**

> I had mentioned this in Discord months ago, but for some reason, it came back today, and I was in just the right mood to write it. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think!


End file.
